After meeting my father for lunch today, I returned home to find a large, yellow pickup truck labeled “Critter Control” parked in my usual spot. I could see the owner of the truck climbing up a large ladder to the roof of the end-unit townhouse at the opposite end of my building. The owner was standing on her front stairs watching the man. Figuring that she had the same problem with animals in the attic, I ventured over to strike up a conversation.
Turns out she’s got squirrels in her attic that have chewed through her wires, creating a fire hazard. I told the man from Critter Control that I too had friends living in my attic, friends that run around at night and chew holes in the walls of the attic. He then walked with me down to my end of the building and stood in the driveway to survey the area where the squirrels are presumably gaining entry to the house. I asked him what he’d charge to exorcise the little demons, and when given the quotation, gasped and asked how I’d go about doing the job myself.
He responded, “Well, if I told you that, I’d done be puttin’ myself out of a job,” but he then went on to tell me that I’d at least need a ladder and some traps. After covering those basics, he mentioned that I’d have a problem because Virginia law requires releasing any trapped animals on the same property where they are caught. “That means you’d have to release them squirrels on this here lot.”
“Well,” I began. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll just eat them.”
Without any hesitation, he nodded, said okay, and went back to staring at the roof.
“I was kidding.”
“Oh. I’m from Arkansas, and we eat all sorts of things out there that city folks don’t eat. Squirrel gravy and biscuits. Squirrel brains and eggs.”
I winced. “How, um, interesting. Well, we’ll give you a call if we need your services. Or your recipes.”